Part of Me I Can't Let Go
by Aussiegirl41
Summary: It's hard to say, 'I'm sorry'. Another version of Bill and Laura's Kobol reunion. Yes! I'm still finding more fics I've never posted!


**Written for the 'not too hot smut' challenge. **

Laura fell to the floor of her tent, overcome by exhaustion.

The euphoria of the guiding map to Earth had gradually worn off with each step of their return journey from the tomb. And they still had another day to go before they reached the Raptor landing site.

It was an effort to simply loosen the laces of her boots. Tugging them from her feet took another five minute battle between her mind and her aching body. Eventually her willpower won out and she collapsed gratefully backwards with no energy to even think about removing any of her clothes.

She stared up at the where the reflection from the fire danced patterns across the top of her tent, and suddenly everything about the last few weeks became overwhelming.

Tears gathered in her eyes until they were flowing freely, streaming down and over the edge of her cheeks.

"Laura, are you still awake?"

She sat up and gulped down her tears, trying to breathe in enough air to speak.

"Laura?"

"Yes, come in," she managed to squeak out.

A beam of light flickered around the walls of her tent and Bill Adama entered. He bent and removed his boots, placing them just inside her tent.

"I brought you a blanket," he said when he turned back, spreading the silver thermal blanket out over the rest of her bedding.

She rummaged around her belongings for something to wipe her face, wondering what sort of mess she was. How must he view her? Especially now that he knew…

She was jolted from her maudlin mood when rain began to teem down outside.

He moved to the doorway to peer out the tent flap. Over his shoulder, she could see, even by the mere glow of his flashlight which he'd turned upright on the ground, the rain was coming down in perfect vertical sheets. The water was running off the peaked roof of the tent and forming a puddle near the door.

"Doesn't look like it's going to let up in a hurry," he rumbled.

She stared up at the same spot on the tent's roof where she'd been watching the fire's reflection such a short time ago. It was sagging down from the weight of the rain already.

Bill obviously noticed too, and he reached up to carefully push on the area of concern. She heard a faint splashing mingling with the now continuous cadence of the rain.

"Can you point the light up here?" he asked as he endeavoured to manipulate the canvas into a shape that would ensure the water stopped pooling above their heads.

She quickly obeyed, discovering, when the light fell on him directly, he'd removed his jacket. When had he done that? He was wearing a set of double tanks and his camouflage print pants. A faint sheen of either rain or sweat (or perhaps a mixture of both, she thought) made his arms shine. The muscles, which she knew had been so well-defined a few weeks ago when she'd accidentally met him returning from a sparring session at the gym, were noticeably weakened since his hospitalisation.

For some reason, she liked the fact they were both vulnerable to human frailties.

"That should do it," he announced.

She lowered the light's beam to his chest.

"I saw you," she blurted out, her suddenly dry throat making her voice raspy.

He frowned down at her, confused.

"In sick bay," she elaborated. "After that medic had got out the bullets, before they found Cottle. I was out of the brig because of the Cylons on board. And you were there…" She bit down on her lip and looked away, avoiding the stricken look on his face by busying herself with flipping over the flashlight to convert it into a lamp again.

When she looked back he still hadn't moved.

"How much did you see?" he asked, his voice strangled.

"I…You were in an induced coma."

"You saw my chest?"

"There were bandages. But, yes."

He fell silent for a long time. "It's not a pretty sight," he muttered when he finally spoke.

She tilted her head up, trying to see his expression better.

"No," she agreed slowly. "You were shot. Twice, from close range."

Her heart ached as his only response was a grunt. She presumed he was still in shock. She had had a few weeks to get used to the idea of her cancer; with dying. His near-death experience had come from a girl who he'd treated like a daughter.

With a sigh, he settled down onto the floor of the tent beside her.

His vulnerability was her undoing. She reached out and touched the pulse point at the base of his neck, calmed by its steady beat.

"Can I see now?" she asked softly.

He closed his eyes.

She took that as consent and slowly let her finger drift down from his neck to the bottom edge of his tanks. She curled up the fabric inch by inch. No bandages now covered his skin. Instead there was a flaming red line running down the middle of his chest where he'd been cut open to remove the shrapnel they missed the first time he'd been operated on.

It surprised her how upset she was when she thought about the pain he had faced when he had awakened. Sharon had betrayed him with bullets. Laura's own weapon of choice had cut through to his heart as well.

She placed her hand over the soon-to-be scar, expecting it to be as hot beneath her palm as it looked. Instead it was cool, and she shivered with the unexpectedness of it.

"Damn," he cursed softly. "You need to get under the blanket." He reached out to rub her arms, shrugging his tanks back into place. Her skin tingled and warmed under his touch. "Your clothes are still damp from this afternoon's drizzle. You need to take them off."

She nodded dully at his practicality.

"How are your feet? Blisters?"

She shook her head and tucked her feet under her legs.

"Your hands?" he asked, picking them up from where they now clutched a hand towel in her lap. "Cuts?"

Her gaze followed the way he turned her hands over - once, twice, three times – for his inspection.

"Commander-" she started, her voice throaty.

"Bill," he interrupted. And then repeated his name firmly: "Bill. We agreed on Bill, remember?"

She'd been calling him 'Bill' in her thoughts all day. Then she remembered; she'd been calling him 'Bill' in her thoughts for at least two months.

"Habit," she murmured as an apology.

She swayed towards him, her focus centred on his, solid despite its wound, chest.

He growled from the back of his throat. "Come on, before you catch cold," he snapped, dragging her damp sweater up and over her head.

She snorted. "I won't die of a cold," she grumbled as he began to unbutton her blouse.

His hands stilled. His gaze settled on her breasts, which were accentuated from the thin damp material and the fact she wasn't wearing a bra.

"Which?" he rasped out.

The unexpectedness of his question caught her unawares, and she found herself automatically cupping her left breast.

His hand brushed hers away until he was holding the heavy weight of the breast instead. The fingers of his other hand slid the left side of her blouse completely off of her shoulder until the offending piece of flesh was fully bared to him. His thumb caressed the tiny scars from her various biopsies. Next, he probed delicately until he found the small lump on the underside of the breast.

"It hurts?"

She shook her head. "I wish it would. I keep thinking I can feel it, that it's throbbing; a dull ache to remind me. But it's not and I can't."

He held her gaze, at the same time now softly thumbing her nipple, almost absentmindedly.

She licked her lips, finding it odd that she was so turned on when they were thinking and talking about something so serious as her cancer.

"It's spreading," she whispered. "I'll know then. I won't be able to walk when it reaches my bones, I won't be able to breathe when it reaches my lungs. When it reaches my liver, or brain..."

"Laura…"

She reached up and traced his lips.

"I didn't realise how nice that would sound when you said it."

"Laura, I don't know…"

She gave in to temptation and moved closer to him until her head was leaning carefully on his chest. He wrapped his arms around her.

She felt safe for the first time in a long time.

It was all so confusing; this man who'd been her enemy just a short time ago was the man she felt safe with. He was the last man she should want; but the only man she did want.

She leaned back and removed her blouse completely before gathering up the bottom of his tanks again, silently encouraging him to remove them. He pulled them up and over his head, and they both relaxed down until they lay on the floor of the tent, her head snuggling into a cosy space beneath his arm.

"It hurts?" she asked just as he had, her hand hovering over the jagged red line.

His free hand brushed the hair back from her face.

"Only when I laugh."

They both laughed then. Their shared laughter easing some of the tension that had sprung up between them.

She was actually used to tension between them - ever since they'd met there had been tension - but not like this.

She tilted her head to look at his face, so captivating in the lamp light. She brushed her lips along the roughness of the day-old stubble of his chin. Thinking of him in this way seemed so natural.

Maybe she'd been wrong. Maybe their tension _had_ always been about this.

"It is a dull ache; to remind me," he murmured, belatedly answering her question.

She lifted up onto her knees so she could press her lips against his thick neck.

His hands were stroking up and down the sides of her stomach. She stared down at him, urgently needing to learn everything there was about his body, yet wanting to extend the experience by taking it slow.

"Where?" she asked. "Where does it ache?"

He slowly pointed to a red, puckered patch. She bent her head and carefully kissed the spot.

He kept talking as he pointed.

"And you're right, it is reminding me of what is important."

She followed his directions, kissing each place he indicated. His ragged breathing was the only sign he was effected.

"It reminded me I couldn't let my family go without a fight."

She sat upright and held his gaze. "Lee and Kara. They remained loyal in so many ways," she stressed. "Even when they believed in me, they still believed in you. They still loved you and respected you."

Her breath caught in her throat when he reached up and rubbed her shoulders. All the intimate places he could have chosen to touch her, but that was where he opted. His fingers travelled along her collarbone, then back to her shoulders, then along her collarbone again.

He smiled, his hands finally ceasing their enthralling caresses of her shoulders to slide down her arms until they laced with her hands.

They held hands and gazes for the longest time.

"Bill-"

"I'm not sure what I can do," he admitted before she could finish her sentence. "We might have to be content with touching. I'm sorry."

She laughed. "I was about to say I'm not sure what I can do. My breast isn't aching, true, but I do feel so weak."

He cleared his throat. "I should go."

"No!" she said quickly, gripping his shoulders tightly. "Touching would be nice," she admitted shyly.

He stood, but only to remove his remaining clothes. Then, he gently manoeuvred them both until they were lying side by side again.

Wordlessly, he began to remove her jeans, turning the simple task into an act of complete seduction.

Her body trembled, apparently more than willing to allow him to take charge.

His hands and mouth slid along her skin, learning every freckle, dimple, vein and smooth place in between before he leaned across to switch off the flashlight.

"I think it's best we feel our way. I'm not ready to share this with the rest of the camp if the rain eases."

His fingers skimmed along the elastic of her panties teasingly until he took the next step and removed them, tangling his fingers amongst the curls he discovered.

Desire pulsed through her and she instinctively strained her hips towards him, yearning for him to touch her more intimately.

Finally, after what felt like an agonising wait, he hooked one of her legs over his hip and reached between her thighs.

She let herself relax. She was safe with him.

"Tell me if you need to go slower," he whispered.

"No," she replied with a slightly breathless tone. "It's perfect."

His fingers were advancing and retreating, softly circling and flicking. His palms and wrist rubbed against her with a little more force.

"Harder? Softer?"

She hummed, thrusting herself slowly further into his touch.

He chuckled. "I'm not sure if that's an answer."

"Hmm..."

He pressed her onto her back and bent his head, kissing and sucking and touching her seemingly everywhere.

Her only participation seemed to be lying back and enjoying it, along with holding a generous clump of his hair. Somewhere in the back of her mind she thought she really should loosen her hold, but then she was lost in a myriad of pleasurable sensations cascading over her body; ones that she had never thought she'd ever experience again.

When she finally calmed, Bill had crawled back up to lay beside her. She noticed he was puffing.

"Bill?" she asked urgently. "Are you okay?"

"What a way to go, hey?"

She slapped him gently on his arm, thankfully remembering not to hit his chest. "Don't joke about it," she chided.

Her hands spread out until she was stroking his upper arms. If only she'd be alive when they were sleek and hard again.

"Would you like-"

"I just want to hold you," he rasped out. "I want to lay beside you naked. I want to go to sleep and wake up with you beside me naked."

"Bill, in the morning..."

"We'll be okay."

It was at least a half an hour later when she whispered to him in the darkness.

"Bill..."

"Yeah?"

"I'm sorry."

"About time," he murmured, kissing her for the first time on her lips. It was only a quick gentle brush of his lips against hers but it was beautiful.

He was right. They'd be okay in the morning. And for now, in his arms, she was safe.

The End


End file.
